He Who Never Cares (rewrite)
by Cheekygaya
Summary: Just as the title says. A goddamn rewrite. Please move along.


**Note: I spent quite some time fixing a crap ton of mistakes to make this shit come out a little less awkward. But even how many times I tweak the edges here and there, it still comes out as edgy - on the cringeworthy level of edgy, I mean.**

 **Oh, I don't even care anymore. May this poor soul of mine be spared by sweet lady Eris.**

 **(Right, I know I kinda forgot to mention it in the first publish, but this was actually inspired from the story "Hikigaya Hachiman is Different" by** **max3213. Great fic... and uh, been a year, huh? *ehem-ehem*Still waiting though.** **)**

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 **He Who Never Cares (rewrite)**

Once upon a time, on a world full of lies and facades, where nothing seemed to have any worth that doesn't have a single smudge of fraudulence, a boy lived and stayed true to himself.

He stayed genuine and accepted reality fully.

He didn't even tried to hide what he really was.

He was so full of hatred.

He hated the world for being so untrue, for being full of lies.

He hated the unfairness of being ruled over by the gifted ones.

He hated those who misunderstand the true meaning of being alone and glances at him with pitying eyes.

He hated those who played jokes at him.

He hated everything.

And that hatred ignited a motivation inside him.

A goal.

A desire to achieve something.

A feeling, specifically.

The feeling of wanting to watch something burn and do nothing.

The feeling of not feeling anything.

Of not caring at all.

 **~0~**

Once, he lived the life of a normal boy.

He got to be bullied by his classmates.

He got to be played at by his seniors.

He got to be shunned by everyone.

 _But that's just how it is, right?_

After all, he doesn't really mind.

Being alone works too well with him.

Well indeed, it worked _too_ well.

For he loved being alone more than anything else.

 **~0~**

Time passed and he enjoyed the company of his only friend.

The one lurking in the shadows.

The one sitting within the empty seat beside him.

The one he walks home with.

The one he loves to talk to.

The one who can't be seen by anyone.

The one that he made to fill that void of sadness secretely looming from within his shell of a heart,

He befriended the greatest enemy of most people.

He embraced it.

Tightly.

As if his life depended on it.

He craved for it.

And the world ganted his demands.

He got to be with the one he wanted.

He was happy about it.

After all, _loneliness_ is a really great friend.

It wouldn't play jokes at you.

It wouldn't bully you.

But most of all, it would never leave you.

As long as you seek for it.

Which he did.

 **~0~**

Just like other things, his everyday life turned on a different direction.

That little shade of a tree he was always passing time at.

That corner of the vending machine he was always hiding at.

That certain place at the abandoned faculty office's bathroom he loves to eat his lunch at.

That little sanctuary called 'Middle School'.

All of those, he was forced to leave.

Only to be cramped in a place full of — idiots.

Idiots who knew nothing about the true shades of life.

Idiots who never once felt the harshness of reality.

But he never minded.

He doesn't care after all.

 **~0~**

Two years.

 _Such a long time isn't it?_

But for him, it's nothing but a mere blink of an eye.

He breathed in—

And he got forced to a club.

He breathed out—

And that club's long gone.

Service club.

What a joke.

Forced to deal with other people.

Forced to run errands against his will.

He hated it.

He resented it.

If ever someone asked him to come back to that room filled with that weird scent of tea,

He'll just look at them weirdly and ask—

"Why should I?"

Then go away.

But then, life loves to play its shitty joke,

And he got to meet this silly person again.

The person who knew nothing about personal space.

The person who only annoys people.

The person with a silly coral tinted hair.

The person who told him, in the middle of the hall, as the afternoon rays barge in by the window—

The words he hated so much to hear.

 _"Hikki..."_

He hated it.

 _"...come back.'_

Those people who knew nothing about him,

 _"Please..."_

Yet still acts like they do.

Those who think that life is just a shitty romantic-comedy.

They are all idiots.

And idiots like them — sould just go blow themselves up.

And die a million death.

Those moments he had in that room,

Are all nothing — but lies.

As he looked ahead of him, with the evening light peeking through,

He watched her,

Lying on her back,

Unconscious.

With a large bruise on her face.

He smirked as he turned to leave.

Then he rubbed his knuckles.

They were swollen.

 **~0~**

His last day of high school was filled with nothing but boredom.

Even though he got to stay alone for such long time,

He somehow felt — uneasy.

Why?

Something feels weird.

Except for all that counseling he was getting every week.

That girl reported him to the police.

—for just a goddamn bruise.

 _Don't be such a fucking baby._

 _You should even be grateful I didn't kill you._

 **~0~**

Graduation passed.

He tried to get onto a nearby university to study.

Another four years along with a bunch of shitty people.

But he just nodded it off.

Just be patient.

Because he knew — after that another four years of enduring.

He could finally seek what he always wanted to do.

The one which he still didn't understand.

But yet forcefully crawling in the back of his head.

He would search for that soon.

That _thing_ he seeks for.

In reality, even though he hated 'almost' anything,

There were still some things he adore.

Like seeing people suffer—

Or his sister, for instance.

He loved her so much he was willing to kill for her sake.

Literally.

He still remembered that time,

When he saw her walking with a blue-haired boy.

Alone at night.

That time, his blood boiled.

And the last thing he knew,

He was on a police station,

Sued for _assault and physical injury_.

But he was kind of disappointed, though.

He was expecting something cooler,

Like _murder_ , for example.

 _What a bummer._

 **~0~**

For the first time,

He was happy—

That he'd done the 'thing' he always wanted to do the most.

Yet at the same time,

He was sad—

For the one that he cared so much for...

Was lying down.

Lifeless.

Like a string-less marionette.

It all happened in just a jibby.

He was just about to fetch some coffee outside.

Then he heard it—

The screaming of a girl.

The voice of a girl he used to know.

The one who insisted on waking him up every morning.

That voice was so annoying, but he had never hated it.

Yet right now—

As he's straining his ears to listen,

There was only one thing in his mind.

For the very first time—

He felt those sharp fangs gnawing at his chest.

He felt fear.

Not for himself — but for someone else dear.

He looked at her as those weird liquid starts dripping from his eyes.

She's battered.

Torn up

Broken.

His sister was lying down in front of him.

And he wasn't able to do a single thing.

If only he came up earlier.

 _If only..._

 _If only..._

Then as if mocking him—

Three men came out of nowhere.

 _"Ah, someone's licking the leftovers. That's dirty, y'know?"_

 _"Ain't that cute? Looks like he knows the chick."_

 _"Oh lookie here, he's crying! Aww..."_

That was the moment he realized.

These bastards — are the one who did it to her.

And they even have the courage to mock him?

Really now. And to think he was always asked why he hate people.

He stood up and dusted his pants.

Then, he smiled.

The person withholding it couldn't see,

But in the mere eye of the onlooker—

It was scary.

His eyes, dead like those of a rotten fish—

Seemed different for the very first time.

Not because he was happy,

Not because he was sad

To be honest, even he, himself—

Doesn't know why.

 **~0~**

Life goes forth after that,

Many things changed.

Like how his neighbors looked at him.

Like how his parents flinched whenever they got accidental physical contact.

Like how his campus mates are avoiding him.

He knew why, though.

They were scared.

After all, he sent three men in a hospital.

Two on critical condition, the other one almost died.

It was weird — it almost felt like something had possessed him that time.

He had no idea he could do such a thing.

Even so, he felt ecstatic upon doing so.

 **~0~**

His parents divorced after his sister's death.

Why?

He didn't really know.

And he never cared.

But one thing's bothering him,

Where will he sleep?

His mother looked at him,

Her eyes full of disgust—

Remorse.

She didn't want him.

No — she never wanted him.

He was nothing but a failed experiment.

A thrown away lab rat.

She always loved his sister, but never him.

So she was out of the question.

Then, he looked at his father.

He just looked — troubled.

 _Still scared of shouldering responsibilities, I see._

 **~0~**

Months passed and he lived with his father in a cheap apartment.

His mother took everything—

The car.

The house.

Literally everything.

But he never cared.

He doesn't need those.

What he needed is already given to him, after all.

Those moments when his deadbeat father went out for a day-long drinking session,

He would sit there.

Alone.

Smiling to himself.

He always loved it.

 **~0~**

 _Campus._

 _Bedroom._

 _Grave._

 _Repeat._

He spent his three years doing the same thing

Over, and over again

But he didn't really mind.

He was content.

Even though something feels missing.

Except for his sister, something feels off.

He didn't know what.

And he still didn't know even now.

 **~0~**

His mother never visited.

But he already expected that,

But still—

It's such a nuisance to see his father crying every night.

Drunk and disheveled.

Truly the epitome of failure.

He knows that this idiot still loves that woman.

But then again, why divorce?

He guessed it was his mother's choice about the divorce.

Why?

Because he knew.

He always sees it.

Back on those times when they're still playing that house game.

His mother always goes home late.

Late — as in _very_ late.

One night, as he was out for a night walk, he saw it.

That bitch of a mother—

Was snogging with a man of his age.

He always sees his mother as someone who looked young for her age.

Nothing more, nothing else.

But from that time on—

As he was looking at those two,

With their sloppy tongues tangled from one another.

He felt another foreign feeling.

Disgust.

He was disgusted from skin to flesh — that this woman is his mother.

 **~0~**

It was a day of new emotions, it seems.

He looked at his father.

Then, for the very first time in his whole life.

He felt it.

That very strong emotion.

So strong it can somehow sway him.

Pity.

He was like him.

Lonely.

Yet, they were still completely different.

Because he was sad about it.

And he was not.

He walked to his father and patted his shoulder.

The very first time he showed sentiment.

 _"It'll be alright soon."_

He said—

But his father wasn't listening anymore.

He couldn't even listen anymore.

 **~0~**

Never did the thought of telling his father about his mother's fiasco crossed his mind.

Partly because he hated talking—

Next was because he didn't care.

So by this moment, he was somewhat surprised.

Hearing his father before him, ranting about that man his mother was supposed to date.

But that didn't matter, as what he was seeing was more important than what was going inside his ears.

This man before him — was covered in blood,

That was not his.

He smiled as he looked at his father's hand.

On it was a large kitchen knife — painted crimson red.

With blood dripping on every angle.

He killed that son of a bitch.

It was at that moment—

A surge of pride swelled through his chest.

This insufferable bastard really is his father.

 **~0~**

The policemen came and his old man was taken to a hearing.

With all those sophisticated bastards looking down at him—

He sort of felt bad for his father.

But he didn't mind.

The judgement arrived.

The man was persecuted for murder—

And sentenced to death.

But he wasn't shocked.

Not even sad.

Because he already knew that.

Only idiots wouldn't know that killing is equal to death-penalty.

He looked back in that night, when he was patting his crying father's shoulder—

 _"It'll be alright soon."_

That soon he was talking about,

Is now.

His father will die—

Then all of his problems, along with his life—

Will vanish.

 _How wonderful._

Shame he couldn't die yet.

As he still had lot of things — he wanted to do.

 **~0~**

From that day on—

As his father's ashes were delivered back home, his resolve solidified.

It was silly how he hadn't realized it after all these years.

The thing he wanted to do the most.

Looking back at those times.

Back in middle school—

The way he looked at his seniors, as he was sitting beside the vending machine.

His eyes, they always tell something.

They were wishes.

Since as a pathetic child he couldn't do anything, all he did was wish.

Wishes for them to vanish — to die.

It was all the same thought.

Back in that damnable hallway, where he punched that bitch.

Back in that street, when he ran towards that blue-haired boy,

Back in that night, as he looked at his father—

Soaked in someone else's blood.

That swelling pride, that odd feeling,

It made him realize — he always wanted to be like that.

The one breaking — not the one being broken.

The one hurting — not the one getting hurt.

The one laughing — not the one crying.

He always wanted to be like that.

Screw not caring about everything—

Now, he would care about what he desires.

He looked at the mirror, wearing his hoodie on.

Holding his father's precious possession.

That knife.

The one he took from that police station.

That would be his companion from now on.

He would never be alone anymore.

 _"Time to turn the tables."_

He said to no one in particular.

He had been talking to himself more frequently these days.

Anyway.

He wondered who would be the first.

Then, he saw it—

That photograph of the two newly-wedded couple,

They were smiling happily.

But screw those sentiments—

As the one he was looking at, was the person being carried by the man.

The person he knew.

The one who bore him for about nine months.

The one who made him feel disgust for the first time.

The one he would love to be his first.

With that, he head out of the door with a triumphant smile in his face.

And for the very first time in his life,

He felt excited.

 _"I can't wait to meet you again, 'kaa-san."_

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 **Note: And that's it folks, I hope you're all still alive after reading this (because honestly, I almost died of flaming myself while editing). I also feel bad for deleting the original post, since it would also delete the reviews I got there. Thus, for the sake of my ego- I mean, to respect all of those who gave me their sweet time and wrote a review, I will hereby copy and paste of all your reviews and add them here.**

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 **azeroth5:** _Great story, it kind of reminded me of that one Killer-Killer cross that was made but with a good original twist. I think you can actually make something of this - like a Hachiman becoming a killer and someone from his old school chasing him while he lives a double life - like a detective, teacher or psychologist :D anyway good story still waiting for update on MTCDGP._

 **Predator7:** _Predator gets triggered.!_

 _*# / *_  
 _Fucking Awesome. I don't care of others call you a nut job. I loved this shit.!_

 **Talilover:** _Woah_

 _Dude_

 _Don't_

 _Cut_

 _Yourself_

 _On_

 _That_

 _Edge_

 **Syclone903:**

 _CRAAAAAAAAAWLING IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN MY SKYYIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN! THESE WOOOOOOOUUUNDS THEY WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIL NOT HEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAL!1!1_

 **Jam99chgo** :

 _If only he had a Haruno to share the fun with._

 **TheLaughingStalkieTalkie** :

 _The was interesting, to say the least. I was going to say it was a work of art, but that saying is incredibly vague. By the stupidly flawed logic of referring to something as "art" it can be determined that anything and everything subjected to that saying can be considered "art". What was I saying again?_

 **kou** :

 _Oi author can u update the snafu x tokyo ghoul story that u make? i want to know what happen next._  
 _keep up the good work._

 **LyingHiki** :

 _Enjoyably Fresh, a psychotic Hikki..._  
 _don't care what the others say but your work is nice..._  
 _following your other works._

 **Lord Tachanka** :

 _If only jam99chgo had an actual pussy to share the fun with..._

 **AndyBurgundy:**

 _Woah...!_

 _I... I_

 _Love this!_

 _This is a true nihilist! I adore characters like this! So much more apealling. More intersenting._

 _This is art._

 _I love apathetism._

 **Wicked.A** :

 _did 8man kill komachis murderers?_  
 _why did he punch yui seems to be out of character to use that much effort on someone he doesnt care about_


End file.
